Rise and Fall
by SummerRed
Summary: She was fire and he was ice, but that didn't matter to him; it only made her all the more perfect.
1. His Obsession

**Don't own any of Marvel's stories or characters. **

Set post-Avengers, inspired by the interrogation scene in the film.

So this was originally the one-shot His Obsession, and I _was_ going to leave it at that and maybe do a separate sequel but after writing three one-shot sequels decided that it would probably be more cohesive and hopefully better as a multi-chapter fic.

I also want to say a special thank you to **SharpestSatire, **who got me thinking about continuing this properly in the first place.

Hope you enjoy.

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**Chapter One**

**His Obsession**

He was fascinated with her.

Of all the creatures in all the words, she was the one he craved.

Not in a sentimental way, no; leave that to Thor and his human whore.

He wanted to explore her mind, meet her nightmares, caress her fears, find her reason for living and rip it away.

For she was strong, and capable, and deadly, and he was enchanted with her.

She was magnificent.

Every inch the actress, her thespian talents matched even his own, silver locking with silver when they spoke.

Which in itself was rare; after her visit during his imprisonment-and his defeat and later capture, but he chose to ignore those memories-he saw her only once more, and there had definitely been no talking, not with the infernal muzzle Thor had fitted on him, with clumsy, unwilling hands and eyes full of pain.

His had remained full of fury and hatred, fixed unfailingly on Thor's.

She hadn't been there when it was done. He was oddly relieved that she hadn't witnessed such a shameful moment; she would exploit his weakness with cruelty, just as he had hers.

He must never let her know how he thought of her, for that would surely be a weakness in her eyes.

She was a natural, and he admired her for it.

If he were sentimental-which he most definitely was not; he was a god, any human woman was below him, no matter how beautiful she may be-he might ask if she had been hurt, how many had been killed, how the Man of Iron was after his fall from the skies.

However, he was-as he had been christened by said man-"a grade one socio-psychopathic asshole," and so he said nothing, but watched her with wary eyes.

He had never before met a creature like her.

She could sneak up on him, meet his glare head-on without even a flicker of fear; she could trick him into confessions, weasel her way into his mind and refuse to leave, waiting beneath his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes, watching, always watching whenever they were open.

She hated him, of that he was certain.

No matter how excellent an actress she was, the light in her eyes, the curl of her mouth, the tightness of her shoulders all gave her away.

All because he had taken what was hers.

And perhaps because he had attacked her world…but he was more inclined to believe it was the former; she was petty and selfish, her world had been on the verge of collapse and all she had cared about was saving her Hawk.

She was perfection embodied.

He was half-expecting her to leap forward and attack him, but the rational part of his mind-and this had grown rather small since his trip down the wormhole-told him that she had control, that she would wait, that she would strike him when he least expected it.

Or at least when Thor wasn't attached to his side like a guard-dog with Mjolnir in his grasp.

He was rather looking forward to it.

She stayed a careful distance away from him, talking quietly to Thor, glancing over at him every so often.

He found he couldn't take his eyes off her.

If he was ice, she was surely fire, with her red hair and blazing eyes.

And because he knew her so well, he saw the crack appear in her mask, the falter that gave him hope.

She rose to her feet fluidly, and he felt his stomach twist at the thought of her leaving, but he knew his memories of her would be clear and truthful, for he couldn't stand the idea of forgetting one thing about her.

He gazed after her as she walked towards the door with Thor-ever the protector-beside her, never once turning back.

But she turned now, the light from the opening door highlighting her profile, and he saw her lips move.

He forced himself to concentrate, focusing only on hearing her speak one last time.

"Will he be executed?" she asked, and he felt a thrill run through him at the sound of her voice after so long in silence.

"He is a traitor and a murderer, but he is still a son of Asgard. I am certain my-_our_ father will be lenient with him."

She nodded, and he watched her entranced.

"An eternal prison sentence then?"

Now it was Thor's turn to nod, and he could see the defeat in him.

_How does it feel? _he wanted to ask. _How much does it hurt you?_

"He is still dangerous, despite his magic being bound. He will always be dangerous," he said, and Loki hated him all the more for the misery in his voice.

"He's hurt, he's angry, and he's defeated," she said shortly. "He hates you and your father and all that Asgard stands for. He has been lied to for most of his life and it has broken him. That's enough to make anyone dangerous."

He could hear the barely contained rage in her voice, and he realised it wasn't aimed at him, none of it was aimed towards him; it was at _Thor, _his golden brother.

She understood him, she sympathised with him, despite all that he had done.

He was so lost in his realisation that he missed her turn to him, the light casting shadows across her face.

And as their eyes met, he could almost feel her fire in his chest, burning his heart of ice and replacing it with dancing flames, his entire body engulfed in heat.

_We are the same, _he thought, and he could see it reflected in her eyes, this common truth they had only just stumbled upon.

Thor said something-he wasn't sure what exactly; his mind seemed to have halted at her look-and she turned back to him, answering softly.

Released from her spell, he calmed himself, clearing his mind so as to listen once again.

But she was leaving, opening the door fully, her hand on the keypad outside ready to lock it, about to trap him on one side and her on the other.

"I don't know," she murmured, and he realised he must have missed Thor's question. "I think he just looks…sad."

And with that, she typed something in, and the door closed, leaving him alone with Thor once again.

But he didn't mind, not now, not after her.

Perhaps in the morning she would stare at him coldly-watching, always watching-and stand beside the Hawk, whispering in his ear.

But he wouldn't care about that either.

Because they were the same, and she knew it.

Deep down, she had already accepted it, and that-along with all his memories of her-was more than enough to last him until he could escape from Asgard.

He had once said that there were no men like him, and he still stood by that.

But perhaps-just perhaps-there was a woman like him.

And one day he would make her his.


	2. In the Dark

Don't own any of it.

Hope you enjoy.

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**Chapter Two**

**In the Dark**

Her nightmares always started the same.

She was utterly alone in the dark, lost and left by her own subconscious, her survival instinct kicking in and clawing uselessly at her sleeping mind, desperate to find a way out and back into reality, no matter how painful it was.

And then the screaming would start.

She still wasn't exactly sure whose dying screams she heard-she knew her parents' were in there somewhere, along with every one of her kills'-but their agony and fear had long been carved into the very fabric of her soul.

The others shifted and changed as much as she did.

Sometimes Clint was in there, his cries tearing at her heart until she screamed along with him, his name becoming a battle cry in her own mind until she would wake abruptly, bathed in sweat and gasping for mercy.

Those were the nights Clint would stay until dawn, his arms holding her close, his heartbeat the only thing keeping her sane.

Sometimes she heard Pepper Potts, and the guilt was strong enough to kill her, suffocating her in its icy grasp until she would hear Stark's yells too, and the guilt would only increase tenfold, because she knew it was her fault that he was dead, because she hadn't protected Pepper well enough.

Those were the nights she allowed herself to cry, for the woman she barely knew but couldn't stand the thought of dying, and for Stark who loved that woman far more than anyone knew.

Those nights were followed by the days when she was actually nice to him, something that scared the hell out of him to no end.

Her other colleagues-friends? Did she dare call them friends yet?-intermingled every so often, until she grew to know their screams better than their voices.

Those were the nights she stayed up and talked, so as to smother their screams with their laughs.

Lately, she had been hearing Loki, and those were the nights she locked the door and allowed herself to feel.

At first, she'd been sure it was some trick of his; to wriggle his way into her mind and drive her mad, to find out SHIELD's secrets and use it to destroy them.

Then she'd realised he was screaming too.

She had never heard him scream, though she had fantasised about it after all he had done to Clint, imagined the noises he would make as she pulled and tore at his body like a wolf baying for blood.

She had wanted to hurt him as he had her, to rip away all that he cared for, to attack what he loved most.

But Loki cared for nothing; he was cold and unfeeling, driven to madness by despair and rage and-though she hated to quote anything Tony Stark had to say-'daddy issues.'

All she could hurt was his flesh, so that was what she craved most.

Fury had put a stop to those thoughts when she was told he was being shipped back off to Asgard for good-she'd believe that when she saw it, seeing as he had apparently fallen to his death in outer space but still managed to return; escaping Asgard would be nothing compared to that-and so instead she had calmed herself, and told herself to wait and watch.

_Watching, always watching, _a voice whispered, and she fought the urge to tell it to shut up; talking to oneself was never a good sign.

Loki's screams sounded too much like her own.

She rarely made mistakes concerning her own life, though it often felt like one as a whole some days.

One mistake had been allowing Clint Barton into her heart, but she would never be willing to rectify that; Clint was hers and she was his, and that could never be changed now.

Another mistake had been visiting Loki.

She had been warned against it by just about every member of SHIELD she had told and the Avengers, as Stark had taken to calling them, but in the end Fury had said it was her decision.

It had been the wrong one.

Now his face filled her mind in her waking hours, his screams filling her nights, drowning out the others with his anguish, and she found herself oddly grateful for the relief, for finally ending her parents' eternal suffering in her mind.

A darker part of her wanted to comfort him, to hold him close and calm him, to keep him safe from his brother, and Odin, and any other part of his adopted family in Asgard who had hurt him before and probably would again.

She had hated him with everything she had until she had met his gaze, and then any wish to hurt or torture him had disappeared like smoke in the wind, for she had looked into his eyes and seen herself.

And that was the most fearsome thing in the world to her.

He screamed again.

She bolted upright, throwing Clint's arm off her stomach as she leaned forward, head bowed as she braced her hands on either side of her legs in an attempt to fight off her nausea, gulping down the humid air.

"Tasha?" Clint mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep, frowning blearily as he reached for her.

"I'm here," she murmured, twisting herself round so she could brush her hand down his back, the contact soothing the both of them. "Go to sleep."

He did so, his hands held tightly in her free one, the other still stroking his skin.

She could not sleep, she would not.

If Loki waited for her in her dreams, then she would stay in reality, where her thoughts of him could easily be pushed away.

And for three nights, she did so, focusing on whatever it was she needed to, barely noticing the concerned glances thrown her way, the questions she didn't want to answer.

But in shoving him away she had only brought him closer, his voice becoming clearer to her than her parents', his eyes watching, always watching in the shadows of her mind, and she knew then that he had released her from her own torment whilst enslaving her to his.

She had only succeeded in making herself weaker and wearier, and that made him harder to fight.

That would soon change.

"No," she heard someone say, and it took her a moment to realise that the word came from her own mouth.

Clint frowned at her, but said nothing, waiting for her to elaborate.

She tried to remember what they had been discussing, what was happening right before her eyes.

But all she saw was him, his icy blue eyes swimming before her own.

"I-"

"Why can she go to Asgard but I can't?" Stark butted in, and she wanted to kiss him for it, something she knew would never be repeated; she blamed it on lack of sleep and overwhelming gratitude.

Her memories came flooding back, alarming her with how she could have forgotten them so quickly; she was at Stark Tower with the rest of the Avengers, minus Thor, a meeting to decide-

"We haven't decided anything yet," Steve cut in, always the mediator, their calm and composed leader.

"If Thor's reports are anything to go by, it sounds like Loki's even crazier than ever, we don't need you going over there and pushing him off the edge," Clint explained in an even voice, though his anger was clear in his steel-grey eyes.

"I thought he'd already fallen off the edge once?" Stark said, raising his eyebrows innocently, smirk already in place.

Clint narrowed his eyes, his fists clenching on the table.

"See? This is why neither of you can go," Steve said quickly, gesturing to the two men. "Barton, if you go you'll let your temper get the better of you."

"But he-"

"I know, but we can't promise Thor that no harm will come to his brother and then send you there to beat him up."

"Which is why I should go, case closed," Stark said, tapping his hand against the table lightly.

"No, Judge Judy, because if you go you'll either piss him off or come back as his best friend," Clint snapped, and Stark's smile dropped.

"Personally, I think me and Doctor Banner should go, seeing as we can both control our tempers," Steve said reasonably, before catching the disbelieving looks he was being thrown and adding quietly, "Most of the time."

"And what would you know about prison cells?"

"Enough, and if Director Fury is coming-"

"Which is why I should go to even it out," Stark interrupted, a superior expression on his face.

Clint snorted. "Because you know all about prison cells too."

Stark bristled, but said nothing for once.

"We're going in circles. Since I am an actual SHIELD agent, I will be the one going."

"Since Fury's already going, some who is _not _a SHIELD agent should go so that we're not all told a pack of lies when they come back."

Steve's mouth twisted as he watched them, his nostrils flared in a calming breath.

Natasha decided to speak before he either started on the lecture he was planning or spontaneously combusted.

"I'm going," she said firmly, and Steve was startled by the strength in her voice, the intensity with which she gazed at him, daring him to contradict her.

"Tasha," Clint started, but she already had an answer for him.

"You can't-you don't think rationally when it comes to-_him_. You're too close to it. You're off this one, I'm sorry," she said, and she saw the hurt fill his eyes, turning him from a hardened agent to a lost child.

Hearing it from them was one thing, but for her to say it.

"I want to see the bastard locked up, surely you can understand that-" he started hotly, but she spoke over him again.

"Lost," she muttered, glancing around, her mouth half-open as though she were about to speak.

"I don't understand," Steve murmured, glancing over at Bruce who had remained silent throughout their meeting.

He barely noticed him, too intent on watching Natasha with sad eyes, his mouth down-turned, as though he were about to tell her something awful, and it reminded Steve of the look doctors wore when they told someone they had only days left to live.

The thought made him feel sick.

"Look, we have a rapport," Stark said, his tone condescending. "So I'm going. Tell Fury, I'm sure he'll be thrilled to have me as his travel buddy."

Natasha didn't even hear him, trapped in her thoughts and memories, as though she were dreaming wide awake.

"_He's hurt, he's angry, and he's defeated. He hates you and your father and all that Asgard stands for. He has been lied to for most of his life and it has broken him. That's enough to make anyone dangerous."_

"_I don't know, I think he just looks…sad." _

_We are the same, _she thought, rising to her feet and brushing past a whining Stark, barely noticing Clint calling for her, nor Bruce and Steve sharing worried glances.

_I am lost and alone in the dark._

In the dark she was neither man nor woman. In the dark she was a shadow in the night, hidden, feared, hated. In the dark she couldn't see the red in her ledger, the blood that would forever stain her hands.

In the dark she could be anything; human, Asgardian or Frost Giant.

In the dark she was his light, his hope.

She was his salvation, as he was hers.

"What is going on?" Clint asked, his hand closing around her arm, loose enough not to hurt her but still tight enough to restrain her should she try to escape.

She whirled back to face him, a smile already blooming as she leant forward, her lips at his ear.

"I'm going to see Loki," she murmured, and she could see the confusion, the rebuke in his eyes as she drew back, moving her lips to his and kissing him gently, ignoring the startled looks around her-and Stark's smug expression in particular-and whispering, "And then I'm going to kill him."


	3. The Silence of Winter

Don't own any characters or quotes used below.

Hope you enjoy.

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**Chapter Three**

**The Silence of Winter**

Asgard, Loki decided, would not be his prison for much longer.

He had been placed deep beneath the city and could see neither night nor day passing, so he was unsure of just how long he had been incarcerated.

If he judged it by how often Thor visited him, it seemed far too long.

If he judged it by how often Odin visited him, then the end of the universe was clearly upon them, and he would be freed any day now by a star exploding and killing them all.

All in all, he needed to escape soon or the madness everyone told him he was suffering from would soon become a reality.

His mother had been banned from visiting him the day after he had returned to Asgard; Odin had told him that he could see her again when he finally spoke.

He had therefore accepted that he would probably never see his mother again.

Though his magic had been bound before he had even stepped foot on Asgard, Odin had insisted upon spells and even the odd potion-forcing him to drink it had been one of the worst moments of Thor's life; Loki had been too furious to feel any heartbreak or humility-to really ensure that Loki could not use any form of magic whatsoever.

When he escaped, he was going to kill Odin with his magic in the most imaginative ways possible.

As Thor had predicted, he had been sentenced to eternal incarceration, with the added bonus of being executed if he tried to escape.

_How will you execute me when you will already be dead? _he had thought, but since silence was the only weapon left available to him, he had held his tongue and glared at Odin, whilst internally he burned with hope.

The flames that had erupted in his SHIELD cell had turned to embers in his chest, though his heart continued to blaze, his memories kindling the dying fire every night with his dreams of her.

_Watching, always watching. _

And now it was his turn to watch.

He watched Thor, placing the man before him next to his memories of his brother and wondering why they all hurt, every single one tainted by the knowledge of who he truly was.

He watched his brother talk of the recovery of Jotunheim, his words careful and soft, waiting to see what reaction they would get, and he could see the anticipation clear on his brother's face, the worry that he would be furious or upset by the news.

The truth he would never tell anyone was that he cared little for Jotunheim. He had stood before his father and felt nothing. He had killed his father and felt nothing. Why should he care for a home that he had never known?

He hated the Frost Giants, just as he hated himself.

_Asgard is yours, _his mother had told him, and it still was, but not in the literal sense of ruling; Asgard was what Jotunheim could never be; his home, the place that would always bring him comfort and safety, even if he was hated by every single inhabitant of the place.

Perhaps that was why Thor was still so hopeful that he could be redeemed, because he could see the love he still had for his home and for his mother.

But even this didn't match his memories, the image of a younger Thor, the echo of a little boy's words cutting into him like a blade.

"_Do the Frost Giants still exist?"_

"_When I am king, I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all! Just as you did, Father."_

_I'm here, _he wanted to say, wanted to hurt his brother even more with the words, drive him to distraction with the truth, just as it had done to him. _Strike me down, I'm sitting right here, the monster you will one day tell your children about at night. _

But he wouldn't, he realised churlishly; unlike Odin, Thor would not tell his children about the evil Frost Giants. He would tell them of their uncle the Frost Giant, because-_unlike Odin, _he added internally-Thor loved Loki.

Even this brought back memories, the fight with his brother coming side by side with his recollections of falling, leaving him feeling hollow and ill.

"_And what is this new found love for the Frost Giants? You, who would have killed them all with your bare hands!_

"_I've changed."  
"So have I. Now fight me!"_

These memories only added to his confusion, so mostly he retreated inside his mind, watching his memories of _her_, losing himself in his thoughts so as to at least mentally escape the four white walls that were his prison.

The entrance to his prison shimmered with magic-another of Odin's ideas-made up of five thick metal bars running horizontally across one wall, each bar carved with different runes of power, creating a passable gate.

"If you touch them they will burn you," Odin had told him gently, his eyes full of sorrow and guilt. "Please do not touch them, Loki. I wish you no more pain."

He had only turned his back on his previous father and seethed, but he hadn't touched them once.

He hated all of it.  
Asgard was golden and vibrant, his prison cold and sterile, all silvers and white.

Perhaps it was a subtle message to remind him of who he was; a child of winter, frost and ice his only friends, with his pale skin and black hair painting him a creature of shadow, whilst Thor was the golden prince of summer, the warm brother, the true king.

It was times like these he wondered if he was truly going mad, and then he remembered _her_ and he realised it was still just a role, it just had to be played a little longer.

Thor entered his cell three times a day, sometimes with food, sometimes with news-though after the less than warm reception his news of Jotunheim garnered, he tended to speak only of his day, something that Loki found even more tedious and annoying-and sometimes he just came alone.

Those were the particularly gruelling visits.

When Thor was away from him, he could hate him for his greatness, for his compassion and strength, for his continued love of a brother who was long lost to him, for his steadfast belief that they could once again be as they were.

When he was this close, it was hard not to admire him for those qualities.

And that only made him hate himself even more.

"Brother," Thor greeted him, and Loki saw that his hands were empty.

He sighed in reply, sitting up from where he had been lounging in his bed and facing Thor, though he kept his eyes averted, his mouth a tight line.

Thor sat slowly, occupying the only chair in the room and watching his brother with hopeful eyes.

"Are you any better today?" he asked, as he always did.

Loki ground his teeth, but said nothing.

Thor nodded once, swallowing hard.

_Where is my breakfast? _he wanted to ask, but he was not willing to break his silence over a missed meal.

"Mother asks after you," Thor said in a forced, faux calm voice, and Loki knew he was fighting the urge to scream at him.

He had that effect on people apparently.

_God of Mischief, pleased to meet you, _he thought with a smirk.

Thor noticed, and continued quickly, interpreting it as a rueful smile.

"She worries for you, Loki. Speak, and she shall be reunited with you. I know that is all she desires."

Now it was Loki's turn to feel, bowing his head away from Thor's keen gaze so as to mourn the loss of his mother as privately as he could.

His mother would understand, would allow him his silence, would stay by his side no matter what the consequences and not pester him with pleas and questions.

Thor might be of Frigga's body and blood, but Loki was her true son.

"The Avengers also ask after you. The Man of Iron wonders if you have enough drinks to keep you sated. Banner asks if we have the means to help you through your…madness. Hawkeye asks if he can shoot you yet."

Loki snorted, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

These were not who he cared about, these were wrong.

How was _she_? Did she speak of him? Did she want him dead? Did she still understand?

_I am hers and she is mine, _he recited to himself, the words becoming as familiar to him as her face.

Thor's voice broke his ruminations.

"Will you not look upon me?" he asked softly, his voice beseeching.

Loki remained silent, staring resolutely at the wall, his eyes narrowing, though his mind was already whirring, torn between this tedious stand-off and a confrontation with his beloved big brother.

Thor sighed, his eyes filling with pain.

"Very well, then you shall listen."

"I do naught else," said Loki wearily, and if Thor hadn't seen his lips move, he wouldn't have believed it.

"You have seen sense at last," Thor said, relief bleeding into his voice. "Good. Then we shall call Father here, and you can ask for leniency, show him your remorse-"

"Sense? Leniency? Remorse? It would seem that you are the mad one here, Thor Odinson."

"Loki, now is not the time for games."

Loki turned his head slowly, staring at Thor confusedly, though his eyes were alight with amusement.

"Is this not all a game? It certainly is to _me. _Were you not informed of the rules?" he enquired in a smooth voice, though Thor could sense the challenge beneath his courteous words.

"Enough!" he roared, bringing his fist down on his knee and glaring at his brother.

Loki laughed under his breath.

"I see your time with the humans hasn't improved your temper."

"Loki, I beg you-" Thor started, but once again Loki cut him off, his voice low and harsh.

"And I beg _you, _leave now. Leave me alone and never return. Your visits are the cruellest punishment of all, and I ask that you end them. There is my plea for leniency, carry it to your father. Now get out."

"Loki, you are my brother, I love you, please stop this madness. If you repent, if you only ask, you can return home."

"I thought I was already home? Do you mean return to the palace, to my place as Prince of Asgard?" He smiled coldly, the disdain clear in his eyes. "I think not."

"Your home is here, with us, with your family," Thor said gently, and he felt like a child again, soothing Loki's nightmares with his words and his presence, the protective big brother once again.

But this Loki was different, a Frost Giant by blood and knowledge now, a traitor to Asgard, an enemy of Thor.

But different as he was, he would always be Thor's little brother.

And that is why he stayed.

"This is not my home," Loki hissed, the lie bitter on his tongue, rising to his feet and glowering at Thor, his eyes blazing blue flame, spittle flying from his lips with every word. "This was _never _my home. This was my prison, as it is now! I was the unwanted ward stolen from war!"

"I wanted you, Loki. You have always been my brother. Mother wanted you, loved you just as much as me, perhaps even more. Father-"

"He is not my father!" Loki screamed, and Thor closed his eyes against the onslaught, the full force of Loki's insanity suddenly too much.

And there he found the difference between them; Thor knew his mother preferred Loki, knew she always had, ever since they were children. But he embraced it, accepted it and moved on, because despite that he knew his Mother still loved him and always would.

Love and like were not always the same in family, but love always ran deeper.

"You have fallen out of favour with him, that can be rectified," he said in calm voice, worry building in his chest as he watched Loki, fearful that he would injure himself.

"I was never in favour with him. I never stood a chance beside you!" Loki howled, and Thor knew it was time to leave.

"I must go-"

"Oh, I see! You beg me to speak and when I finally do you refuse to listen? I have had to put up with you for however long, and now it is your turn to listen."

"Loki, stop," Thor growled, rising to his feet and scowling at Loki.

"What lies do you tell yourself at night to ensure an easy sleep? That my anger will pass, that my hatred will fade? You are a fool, Thor _Odinson_, and you are undeserving of your throne. I swear to you now, upon my filthy Frost Giant blood, that I will kill you. I will hand you to Hel myself, and we shall see who is the favourite then. I have been in the shadows long enough; now it is your turn to be locked out in the cold. Winter is coming, brother, and there is no place for you there."

"I take my leave of you," Thor growled, and Loki was thankful for some reaction other than his pathetic apathy.

"Fare thee well, brother," he called jovially, baring his teeth in a grin as Thor flinched at the title, pointing a finger threateningly in Loki's face.

"I warn you now, _brother, _this is the end of your games. Representatives of SHIELD are already on their way, and if this continues, they will ask for your death, Loki, do you understand?"

"Who?" Loki asked, his tone serious, his expression unfathomable.

"Fury, I believe, and the Black Widow."

"Natasha?" he breathed.

Thor frowned at him, disconcerted by the reverence in his voice in just one word.

One name.

"Yes, Agent Romanoff," he said stiffly, using her full title in at attempt to discern what was between her and Loki.

Or rather, what Loki had created in his mind.

"I have told them you mean them no ill will," he continued. "I hope that you can fulfil my promise."

"Yet they come baying for my blood. Seems an unfair bargain to me," Loki said in a cool voice, his eyes glittering beneath his dishevelled hair.

"They bear no threat to you. I will keep you safe," Thor said firmly.

_I will keep you safe, _he had promised when they had run from their Father as children, Loki guilty of causing yet more mischief.

_I will keep you safe, _he had promised when Loki was ill, sitting beside their Mother at his bedside, his already warrior-like hands dwarfing Loki's slender ones.

_I will keep you safe, _he had promised when they rode into Loki's first battle, Loki pale and shaking beside him whilst Thor remained steady, his anchor, the unmovable mountain that was his big brother.

"I will keep you safe," Loki echoed, the words catching in his throat.

"Just as I always have," Thor promised. "Just as I kept you alive, just as I keep watch over you now."

But whatever tremulous hold he had over Loki was broken, the maniacal smile back upon his brother's gaunt face.

"I pity you. I truly do."

This Loki was broken, Thor realised, taking in his ragged appearance, the unnatural glint in his eyes, the tremor in his hands.

This was not his brother. This was a shade, a changeling left in Loki's place.

His Loki was gone, and for the first time, Thor wasn't sure if his brother would ever return to him.

The thought broke his heart, along with his resolve; whirling on his heels, he stalked out, leaving Loki once again alone in his prison.

His breathing was erratic, his chest heaving, his pulse pounding in his ears, but he found himself laughing, loud, echoing chuckles that filled his emptiness.

The dead silence of winter had been broken, and in its wake a storm was coming, but not one of his brother's making; this storm was filled with flame and fury, scorching the ground it touched, and he knew it was coming for him.

He smiled to himself, soothing his shaking hands, his breathing calm, quiet now as he sat back down upon his bed distractedly.

Thunder and lightning were fine, but soon there would be an even more impressive match made.

Fire and ice were even more destructive, more deadly and far more dangerous.

And soon they would meet, and he knew the fallout would be terrible.

Loki laughed once more, abandoning his plans for escape in favour of staying right where he was; it would seem that Asgard was the place to be at the moment, her fire drawn to his ice like a moth to a flame.

He liked the irony of that, but couldn't find it in himself to be surprised.

As similar as they might be-and they were identical, of that he was sure-they were different elements, complete enemies if he thought about it.

Ice quenched fire, fire melted ice.

They were both similar and divergent at the same time, but that only made their bond stronger.

_After all_, he thought with a satisfied smile, _opposites do attract._


	4. Fall from Grace

Still don't own it.

Apologies for the lateness of this chapter; first real life got in the way, and then I ended up sitting on it for weeks out of fear, so here we go.

Also, the next chapter will be the last, and I'll hopefully be able to update it in the next week or two.

Hope you enjoy.

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**Chapter Four**

**Fall from Grace**

She was close now; he could feel it in his veins, exhilaration coursing around his body, his heart beating in time with her footsteps, leaving him light-headed and trembling.

How strange a connection this was, how powerful it had become with no contact, how dependant he was upon it.

He had truly not foreseen this the moment he met her, and yet here he was, travelling upon a path he had never even imagined for himself.

His heart fluttered, the flames growing higher in his chest as she neared, until soon he was convinced they would swallow him whole.

He closed his eyes, wetting his lips as he tried to calm his racing pulse, to retain some composure for her arrival.

"Hello, Loki."

Composure was suddenly the last thing on his mind; he flew to his feet, eyes wide so as to see all of her, to take in every detail, to drink in her beauty, her _vitality_ after such desolation without her in his sight.

"Natasha," he breathed, and it felt good to have her name roll off his infamous silver tongue, to finally pass through his lips after so long in silence; his talk with Thor didn't count, nothing counted but _her_.

She stood between his two ever present guards, dressed in her customary black suit, hair loose around her face, eyes fixed coolly on him.

As their gazes met for the first time in however long-_too long,_ his mind supplied, _far too long_-he was right back on the helicarrier, seeing her for the first time with his own eyes, free of the Hawk's voice and feelings clouding her, able to see her in all of her fierce glory.

He stared at her, mesmerised, his restlessness and resentment at his captivity abating for the moment as he basked in her presence, her natural light, her unhampered flame a balm to his torn and icy soul.

He remembered the threat her eyes had held the last time they met, and smiled at her, a crude impression of smile, cold and cruel and sneering.

"Are you here to kill me, Agent Romanoff?"

Her expression flickered for a moment, uncertainty replacing coolness, colour flooding the blandness.

"That remains to be seen," was all that she said, her eyes never leaving his, but she was shaken, her mouth half-open in shock or speech he wasn't sure.

"Watching, always watching," he said in an amused voice, the words coming unconsciously.

She glanced away, almost as startled as he was, before visibly steeling herself.

Now he was truly lost, thrown by her unnaturally anxious demeanour.

Was this some trick to lower his guard, to lure him into a trap?

He couldn't answer, and it made him wary.

She motioned to his guards, and his prison was opened to her, the bars disintegrating as she stepped forward, reforming as soon as she was clear of the boundary, the runes blazing white against the silver metal.

His prison did not seem so…cold with her inside; she seemed to bring a piece of Asgard with her, in the glow of her skin, the shine of her fiery hair, as radiant as the golden city above them against the stark white walls of his prison, her light casting away the shadows he carried with him, her flame thawing the icy heart he hated so much.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he said with a slight smile, taking a step back and surveying her closeness, her stance, readying himself for any move she might make.

But he was easily distracted, his eyes sliding to hers unconsciously, willing her to meet his gaze and hold it.

And then finally she did, her eyes bright, curious, full of life and light.

If Thor was a summer child, even he paled in comparison beside her; sunlight and gold he may be, but she blazed like a supernova, powerful and radiant and blinding.

And yet Loki stood alone, cloaked in shadow and silver, a winter child for all eternity.

"Thor says you have grown insane in captivity," she said, forcing him back into the conversation.

He laughed under his breath.

"I thought it was widely believed that I had been suffering from madness for a while now."

"More insane," she conceded, her lips curling into a smile-small, barely noticeable, but a smile nonetheless. "Very insane."

"Having Thor visit you every day is enough to drive anyone insane."

"He cares about you," she said, her voice almost scolding. "He only wants to help you."

"He wants his brother back. I cannot be that person. I never was."

"He loves you."

"He loves a lie."

"I don't believe that, and neither does he."

"Then you are both excellent liars, but I already knew that about you."

"How are we the liars?"

"To convince yourselves so thoroughly that I can be saved."

She winced, before catching herself hastily and schooling her expression into something controlled, inscrutable.

His confusion only grew, so he changed the subject swiftly.

"Do you pray, Agent Romanoff?" he asked quietly, his voice courteous.

But Natasha could see the lust in his eyes, the possessiveness of his gaze, how his hands twitched to hold her.

And she would use it all to break him, as she had been taught long ago.

"The gods stopped listening to me a long time ago," she murmured, edging closer as she did so, her eyes taking in every slight movement he made.

"You must have been praying to the wrong god. I'm sure nothing would have prevented me from hearing your prayers."

"I didn't know you spoke Russian."

He chuckled then, his face suddenly younger looking, less guarded.

She swallowed, her concentration thrown once again, this time by his…civility.

She had been expecting curses and threats, ready to find Loki rocking and muttering to himself if Thor's accounts of his madness were to be believed.

But this Loki was not insane. He was powerful and far cleverer than he had been given credit for.

He had tricked them all.

And this changed everything.

"Did you pray for mercy? For salvation?"

"I prayed for my parents," she replied, and for once she was telling the truth. "I prayed that they were together. I prayed that they had found peace. And then later, I prayed for death, for those who were a threat to me to be killed. And then I realised that no matter how hard I prayed no one was coming to save me. And so I killed them myself. So no, Loki, I do not pray."

"I think that…you're lying," he said slowly, eyes intent on her every move, noting every play of emotion in her eyes, every expression that crossed her face.

This was her ultimate task, this was the time to be the unfeeling, stoic Black Widow.

This was like looking into a mirror, watching him reach the same conclusion as her, noting the blank expression spreading across his pale face, the determination to win this stand-off clear in his eyes.

She wondered if he could see the same in her, and almost prayed that he couldn't, but she remembered his certainty that she did still pray earlier and wouldn't give him the satisfaction, even if it was just a figure of speech.

And so it continued.

As Loki watched her, she watched Loki. If she moved, he moved. He breathed, she breathed.

On and on until they became one another's reflection, and finally, after what seemed like hours of their silent dance, he shook his head with another chuckle.

"Watching, always watching," he said again.

She almost gasped, but smothered it at the last moment; the first time he had said it she was sure she'd heard him wrong. Now it seemed all her fears were coming to life.

"Thor informed me of Agent Coulson's death. My condolences," he said, his voice full of sorrow, and she was almost blinded with fury, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

"Don't," she said in a low voice, her hands trembling at her sides. "Don't you dare even say his name. You have no right."

He raised his eyebrows questioningly but said nothing more on the subject, instead changing it again, and she wondered if it was a ploy of his to trick her, to trip her up mentally.

She used her body, he used his words. Both procured results.

"How fares my Hawk?"

"He's my Hawk," she replied, her voice flat, eyebrows raised in defiance. "Always has been. Apologies."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I am his and he is mine," she said simply, but the words grounded her, reminded her of who she was and why she was here.

"You are mine!" Loki snarled, darting forward and pinning her against the wall, though she made no move to stop him as he trapped her, his arms encircling her waist, their chests pressed together until they rose and fell as one.

"I am his, I will always be his," she said through her teeth, her eyes narrowing as she fought back the panic being this close to him brought, the blood rushing through her suddenly white-hot beneath her skin.

"Both of you are mine, you belong to me, he as my slave, you as my equal!"

"You don't own an equal," she hissed, grabbing a fistful of his shirt at his side and twisting it, her other hand reaching for his neck, her nails digging deep into his skin.

"You are afraid of an equal. I saw it in your eyes, the fear, the hope, the realisation. We are the same, but different altogether. You are fire and I am ice, but we are the same. We both stood alone, Natasha Romanoff, until now."

"Clint is my equal. I stand with him, he's my partner," she hissed, holding her head high and cursing his height.

"The Hawk is your slave as much as mine, clinging to you like a child to its mother's skirts. I know his deepest fears, and all of them contain _you_."

"Liar," she snarled, tightening her grip on his throat, his skin like ice beneath her burning fingers.

"He feared your death. He feared your retribution. He feared that one day you would slip off that precarious edge of yours and return to old habits," he said silkily, and she knew that she was losing, that his words were far more poisonous and dangerous than any feminine charm she could use right now.

He was under her skin and it _hurt, _her entire body burning with rage and hatred and desire.

She _wanted _this, _needed _his insults, for if she was him then she deserved to fall, to be torn apart as he had been.

She wanted him, the closeness of his body eliciting something she had never felt before, even in her most intimate moments with Clint, scaring her with its intensity and she could feel resolve weakening, disappearing with every moment she spent touching his skin.

"You're lying," she heard herself say, her voice still strong even if she was not. "He knows me better than that, knows me better than anyone."

"Not, I think, better than me."

"But I don't want you, I don't want _this_, I don't want to _be_ you. I love Clint."

"But love is for children," he mocked, his eyes darkening as they met hers.

"Then you are a child too," she said, and before he could back away, before he could even think of a response her lips were on his, and it was her driving him back, slamming him into the wall on the far side of the cell, her hands tangled in his hair, scorching his skin and leaving him shaking, gasping, begging for her, for her touch, for her love.

She broke away, staring up at him with wide, unfocused eyes.

"What did you do to me?" she whispered, and he felt a thrill run through him at how uneven her voice was.

He said nothing, but bowed his head, brushing his lips against hers lightly, the very whisper of a kiss.

With a growl, she pulled him closer, kissing him back hungrily, tracing her fingers across his razor-sharp cheekbones, trailing them down his neck, as his hands cradled her head, holding her gently, softly, allowing her room to escape should she wish.

But she didn't, and that was the problem.

She had been compromised.

She had thought she was the better and lost.

She was fire and he was ice.

And that was all that mattered in that moment.

His skin was cool against hers yet scalding where it made contact, a deep ache that left her yearning for him, made her pull him even closer until she was sure they could no longer be two people but one, united and bound together by their flesh.

She had craved it once before, but this was different entirely.

This was a need to devour, to touch and love and feel.

This was more than anything with Clint; this was open flame and an icy dagger; this was being torn apart and put back together in the most tender way, the only way.

This was right and she was wrong.

Love wasn't for children. Love was for the strong, and she always told herself she had to be the strongest.

Love was for the passionate, and who was more passionate than fire itself?

Love was for Loki.

Unbidden, Clint's face flashed in her mind, her thoughts shuddering to a halt as though doused in cold water.

She broke away abruptly, almost tripping in her haste.

Loki only watched her, keeping entirely still, his breathing as ragged as hers.

"I shouldn't have-this is-I love Clint," she stuttered, and she hated how weak she felt before him.

She'd had the advantage, she was the one who was going to play him, use his attraction for her against him.

Instead she had given into hers.

"I know," he said quietly, his tone devoid of emotion. "But I think you love me too."

She nodded, tears pricking the backs of her eyes.

She blinked them away furiously, drawing in a deep breath to force herself back to normalcy.

But still she said nothing.

After a moment of silence, Loki spoke again.

"Why are you here?" he murmured, his gaze clear and intent and utterly focused on her.

She was laid bare before him, no amount of hiding or running or acting left to save her now.

"To get you out," she said through gritted teeth, and before either of them could say anything more she was in motion.

"Help me!" she screamed, letting out shuddering sobs as she stumbled backwards, heading towards the glittering metal. "Get me out of here!"

The gate opened immediately, the metal bars disintegrating as his guards ran in to-

Get hit in the face with her foot, if her current stance was any inclination to her motive.

His eyes flashed to the hole in the perfect white wall, wondering if it was some kind of distraction, a way for him to escape.

But he wouldn't leave her. He couldn't.

She was a blur before him, tackling his guards to the ground silently, her face set with determination.

"Let's go," she said in an undertone, rising from a crouch and taking his hand, pulling him away from where he had bowed over the still bodies and leading him out into the golden corridor.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" he asked confusedly.

"Because I couldn't leave you here. I heard you screaming and I couldn't leave you here," she said breathlessly, her fingers trembling in his.

"Natasha-"

"Don't," she said sharply. "Don't say my name. You've already poisoned enough of me; you can't have my name too."

He frowned at her, worry beginning to gnaw at him, and he saw clearly the shadows under her eyes, the tightness of her mouth.

The worry blossomed into cold, hard fear, twisting in his stomach like an uncoiled snake.

_We are the same_, they both said, but he was widely known as insane and so he played the part well, his dishevelled appearance the final part of his costume.

But was she playing the part too? Or was this real, the hidden truth no one wanted to acknowledge?

The gauntness of her face, her obvious lack of sleep-suffering from nightmares?-and whatever else he didn't know of.

Hearing his screams, kissing him, the tremor in her hands, her nervous disposition?

"Stop," he said quietly, willing his voice to remain even. "Stop now and tell me what this is about."

She whirled to face him, her eyes bright.

But there was no madness in her gaze, no maniacal light-only the same determination as before, and love.

"I have a plan," she said hurriedly, breaking his gaze and glancing around them, her hand tightening in his.

"This isn't the plan?"

"No. This is," she murmured, leaning forward and going up on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear.

She pulled back slowly, lips pursed, watching him uncertainly.

"Then let's hurry," he said, his expression impressed.

"Will it work?"

"Oh yes, it will definitely work."

He closed his eyes, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Go," he muttered. "And take this."

Eyes still closed, he bent and pulled a silver dagger from his boot, the tip glinting as he offered it out to her.

"Where did you get that?"

"When you…attacked my guards this fell from one of their belts; I thought it might be useful, and I was right."

"No," she breathed, shaking her head frantically. "What if it doesn't work?"

"It will," he said serenely. "Believe me."

He pressed it into her hand, his knuckles brushing her palm lightly.

Before she could change her mind she tightened her fingers around it, her free hand gesturing towards the golden doors as she started forward, her heartbeat thrumming through her ears, matching time with her hasty footsteps.

She used to be so silent, so stealthy, but it didn't matter now.

She wanted to be found.

"HALT!"

She stopped, sliding slightly on the polished floor, Loki behind her as she turned to face another guard, his sword already drawn.

"You have abetted a sentenced criminal in escaping and shall be-"

"Enough," another voice called, and she realised with a heavy heart that it was Thor.

Fury stood beside him, his expression thunderous, and just behind them was-

She felt her stomach drop as she met Odin's eye, her mouth already half open in explanation.

"Agent Romanoff," Thor said gently, his gaze beseeching. "Whatever Loki has told you, whatever hold he has over you, it is finished now. Lay down your weapon. We will not harm you, you have my word. Please give me the dagger. It is finished now," he repeated, his hand outstretched, his eyes warm, full of comfort and understanding.

"It isn't over," she whispered, the words ripped from her, costing her everything she had, every inch of her soul poured into them, the dagger shaking in her grip. This was the final task. "It will never be over until he is dead."

And before any of them could stop her, she twisted, hand already raised in attack, and sank the dagger into Loki's heart.

He gasped, eyes widening in realisation as he glanced down, only the polished silver hilt protruding from his chest.

He fell to his knees, eyes now locked with hers, the eyes she had dreamt of so often, the fire she had lit in them extinguished by her blow.

_Destroy the body, _a voice whispered in her mind. _Turn it to ash. _

She leapt forward, a snarl building in her chest as she ripped a torch off the wall and threw it at him, the snarl becoming a scream of anguish as the flames caught his clothes, the smell of burning skin and hair filling the air.

_I am fire and I only have the ability to destroy, _she thought, and it left her feeling incredibly hollow. _Fire and light, darkness and shadow, we are the same despite it all. _

Thor let out a bellow as he fell upon Loki, trying in vain to douse the flames, to save his brother, tears rolling into his beard as Odin spoke rapidly in a language she couldn't understand, his one eye locked on his flaming son.

But the flames only grew, blazing in a multitude of colours and rising to the ceiling, devouring Loki whole, uncaring of his supposed immortality.

She heard another unfamiliar shriek and saw a woman run forward, her expression tortured, tears streaming from her eyes as Odin caught her in his arms, pulling her away from the fire, ignoring her fists pounding against him.

_I'm sorry, _she wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat, choking her as much as the smoke. _I had to. You wouldn't so I had to. _

Hands grabbed at her, yanking her to her feet and dragging her backwards, taking her away from Loki's smouldering body, Fury's voice in her ear roaring words she couldn't understand, didn't want to hear.

She realised she was shouting, yelling right into her captor's face as she strained to catch sight of Loki, and it took her a moment to realise it was his name she was screaming.

She lost track of time, aware of only the burns on her hand, the coughs wracking her chest, the tears creating rivers through the soot on her face, the smell of fire and death in the air, and above it all the sounds Thor was making as he watched his little brother burn before his eyes.

And finally she saw him, a pile of smoking ash on the polished gold floor, the dagger laid on top, glinting in the remaining torchlight.

Bile rose in her throat as her legs turned to water, her entire body spinning, and she thought of her ledger, the red suddenly vivid before her, painting the golden walls crimson, her hands dripping with blood.

She threw up violently, and her vomit was as red as the blood surrounding her.

The hands holding her released her, began to thump her painfully on the back, even as she wretched and sobbed and choked, falling forward until she was crawling on her hands and knees, desperate to get away from the destruction she had wrought.

But before she could even try to run Odin was before her, kneeling slowly and pressing his hand against her feverish forehead.

Her world turned to darkness, and she knew no more.


	5. Rise from the Ashes of Ruin

This is the last chapter, so I'd like to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited or followed this story; it really does mean a lot.

Hope you enjoy.

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**Chapter Five**

**Rise from the Ashes of Ruin**

She woke abruptly, shivering and gasping for air that wouldn't come.

For a moment, she was paralysed, her fear holding her in place like an iron hand, pressing down on her chest until her vision swam, her mouth gaping open uselessly, trying desperately to draw air into her lungs; and then she coughed, retching and choking as her back arched forwards, opening her airways and allowing her to breathe.

Relief hit her like a fist; she flopped backwards, her breathing worrying even to her own ears, ragged and shuddering and entirely too loud.

She tried to calm herself, ignoring her pulse thundering in her ears, the dizziness that swept over her as she turned slightly, her skin icy cold.

Control was everything; that was what she knew. Gain control, gain perspective, gain knowledge.

So she did.

Her head ached; she had clearly been sedated at some point.

Her hands were bandaged, the material rough against her sore, scalded skin.

Her hair was tied back; she had been sick. It wasn't too hard for her to imagine why.

Her throat was sore, clogged with smoke and tears and a name.

Her sheets were tangled around her, trapping her from the waist down.

Her eyelashes were sticky, clinging to her skin with every blink; she had been crying in her sleep, for the first time in a long time, and she didn't have to think too hard about why.

She wanted to forget the nightmare that was her reality.

This prompted her to open her eyes, taking stock of her surroundings as she searched for water and kept her thoughts away from…_that. _

She realised she was back home, locked in one of SHIELD's less intimidating cells; small but not claustrophobic, secure but with a window in one wall.

She sat up slowly, the room spinning slightly around her as she reached forward, having spotted a bottle of water on a rickety bedside table.

"You've been out for three days."

She jumped, knocking the water onto the floor as she snatched her hand back, her eyes wide and panicked as she stared at her visitor.

"I didn't see you," she whispered, the notion terrifying her.

Clint nodded curtly, his jaw set as he stood slowly from his spot beside the door, having been hidden in the shadows at the corner of the room, and started towards her, pausing only to pick up the water.

She licked her dry lips, watching him breathlessly, taking in the steel in his eyes, his tousled hair, the slump to his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she wasn't sure whether she was apologising for what she'd done or what she'd put him through.

"No you're not," he said simply, but for the first time he smiled at her.

She moved her legs, allowing him to sit opposite her, her eyes never leaving his face.

"What?" he asked self-consciously, lifting his free hand to his cheek.

She shook her head, taking the water bottle from him.

"Sip it slowly; you've already been sick twice," he warned, his hand coming to rest on her knee.

She did as he said, her eyes flickering between him and his hands.

"You actually killed him," he said softly, and there was no judgement in his eyes, but she could see the admiration, the gratitude, even a hint of envy, and it made her tremble with a rage she didn't quite understand.

She nodded, unsure of whether she could trust her voice.

"Why?"

She shrugged, putting the lid back on her water and dropping it onto the bed beside her, doing whatever it took to distract herself.

"You know," he started casually, but she could sense the curious, questioning undercurrent in his tone, the persuasion in his familiar gaze, "Thor said Loki stopped talking, and that's when he went completely bat-shit crazy."

He was being gentle with her, she realised with a jolt. He was trying to protect her, shield her from the horror in her mind; she could almost sense the concern building within him.

But she knew soon he would lose that tenuous connection to her current state, would ask her freely about it, and she didn't know what she would say.

They had always been honest about their kills, going into detail in almost clinical voices, as though it had happened to someone else.

Now she just wanted him to be quiet, to let her think and relax, to forget all about it.

But that she would never do.

_I've got red in my ledger. _

"I don't know what to say," she admitted, her voice hoarse from lack of use and what she assumed was smoke inhalation.

"Thor's pretty devastated. Fury said you did it right in front of him."

She closed her eyes against the onslaught of images, but that only made them clearer, stronger, more painful.

"Thor said it was his own fault. Told he had an idea that Loki had some sort of…_crush _on you," he said, disbelief clear in his voice, though she could hear the beginnings of amusement.  
She fought the urge to hit him, which was rather simple given the guilt and sorrow that arose in her chest, smothering her with its intensity.

"Tell him I'm sorry," she rasped, the words like shards of glass in her throat, tears burning behind her closed lids. "Tell him it wasn't his fault. Tell him I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt him. I swear I didn't. I'm so sorry, it wasn't his fault."

"If he let you in there knowing Loki was being a creep-" Clint started hotly.

"It wasn't his fault," she snarled, her voice low and broken, and for the first time she felt strong again, fuelled by rage and hatred for the man she loved, her eyes flying open to meet his startled gaze squarely, blazing and brilliant and deadly. "It was mine, it was all mine. I didn't mean for-I wasn't going to-"

"Cremate him before he was even dead?"

"I did what I had to," she said sharply, and any joy she had felt at seeing him, whatever comfort he had brought disappeared abruptly, leaving her cold and lonely.

"They think you might be suffering from PTSD, something like that, after everything that happened with Loki before, and with me," he said gently, warily, staring at her as though trying to gauge her response, to see if she was really still there.

"If I'm supposed to be crazy why am I locked in a cell rather than a ward?"

"For your own protection," he said, but he had always been a good liar.

She lapsed into silence again, lost in her own thoughts.

Was this how Loki felt, after learning that everything he had ever been told was a lie? Did he expect every word spoken to him to be false?

Clint was hers and she was his, yet he lied to her face, his eyes innocent and full of love yet deceit must lie within them somewhere, hidden behind concern and friendship.

She shuddered at the thought, at the idea that Clint wouldn't tell her the truth; they had promised long ago to only speak honestly to one another.

They were spies, secrets and lies were their lives, the only thing they knew.

But to each other they were more than that, they were everything good and honest about the world.

Before she could begin to work herself into a state, Clint pulled her back.

"Nat?" he whispered, his voice full of hope and worry.

"I need some time alone," she said flatly, too confused with him so close to her, his hand burning through the thin material of the sheet like a branding iron.

And she knew she was hurting him, knew he was confused and concerned, terrified that she was losing her mind, losing the life she had struggled so hard to build at SHIELD, but she couldn't find it in herself to care, feeling only the vast hollow space inside her chest.

She felt the bed shift, heard his defeated sigh as he made his way across the cell, the scrape and slam of the door, and finally the turn of a lock.

She opened her eyes, relief coursing through her as she lay down, straightening her legs and tangling the sheets around her even more.

Was she on trial, was that why she was here? Surely she would have been kept on Asgard if that were so.

She wondered if she'd lost her job, or just her sanity in their eyes.

The minutes crawled by yet the hours flew as she stayed motionless, her eyes fixed on the dull, grey wall opposite until finally she was in complete darkness, too tired to turn on a light.

She didn't mind.

In the dark she was nothing.

"I must say," a voice drawled from the shadows, "that was by far one of the best performances I have seen in my eternally long life."

She shot up, the nausea washing over her like a wave, but she forced it away, squinting through the gloom of the cell until she could see his outline against the wall.

"Are you there? Is this real?"

Loki stepped forward, the faint light from her window highlighting him.

His hair was sleek and short, cut to jaw-length, and taking away the bedraggled look he had before; his face was fuller, his eyes no longer shadowed and bulging, his skin clear and smooth yet still breathtakingly pale; his armour glinted in the dim light, reminded her of the dagger she had thrust into his heart.

"You did it," she said. "It worked."

"Indeed it did," he agreed, moving to kneel before her, his eyes searching her face for something, she didn't know what. "I told you it would. It was, after all, your plan."

"I know but…"

She trailed off lamely, her gaze growing listless, falling to the floor. More to distract herself than anything else, she turned on a small lamp sitting on the bedside table.

In the light he was even more glorious, as regal as any prince.

"I should be offended by your lack of faith in me," he said softly, his voice amused, gently teasing her. "But I'll forgive you this one time."

"I don't deserve forgiveness," she mumbled, her head beginning to ache.

She raised a hand to her temple, pressing against the pounding pain she could feel building there.

"What you did…I can never show you my full gratitude. You gave me freedom; you should not feel guilty for that."

"And I gave your brother grief, your father anguish. I broke your mother's heart."

At the final admission, Loki bowed his head, swallowing hard.

"I regret the pain I have brought to her, but that is not your fault. It is not your burden to bear."

"I bear it willingly," she said sharply, and some strength returned to her, enough to make her raise her head and meet his eyes as he glanced up in surprise.

"Then you deserve forgiveness," he said simply, but his eyes bore an intensity that tied her stomach in a knot.

"Your magic returned to you," she said hurriedly, desperate not to dwell on that which would only hurt her in the end.

Thankfully, he accepted her subject change, smiling impishly.

"The bindings Thor placed on me were limited to the gag and cuffs. Once they were removed the spells no longer held; I didn't see fit to inform my brother of this. Once I reached Asgard Odin's spells only held inside my prison. He was so arrogant as to presume I would never escape. Once I stepped out-once you helped me out-my magic returned to me immediately."

"And what you did-"

"Astral projection. A particular talent of mine, and not too energy consuming. I presume you knew about it through Thor?" He didn't wait for an answer. "The real trouble was making it last, making it appear real enough to fool whoever saw it. That's why you had to take the knife, had to at least wound me, to make it all the more believable."

"You told me to destroy it, so you could stop the spell," she said in realisation.

He nodded. "A pile of ash is easy enough to conjure, a solid corpse is not. Hopefully they will never question why my…_body_ burnt so quickly. Although, I hope they believe it was the torch's fire."

"Why the torch's?"

"Their fires possess magical qualities to ensure they burn for eternity. Perhaps they will accept that as an adequate method to kill and destroy an immortal."

She wanted to touch him, to see if he was solid now, to feel the pulse running beneath his silken skin, not scorched or scarred, but pure and unblemished.

But she held back, for her own sake.

"The blood-how did you make it so realistic? I could feel it-could see it everywhere."

He frowned, his mouth tight.

"There was no tangible blood. It was all-"

"No," she said firmly, her hands curling into fists, pressing her nails into her skin. "No, I could feel it."

"Natasha-"

"I told you to never say my name," she snapped harshly.

He nodded once, his gaze still on her face.

"Where did you go?" she asked a moment later, the short silence unbearable.

"Here. I've been here, hidden and cloaked from Heimdall since you returned. I would have visited sooner but your Hawk is a persistent guardian. He is as watchful as the bird he is named for; he didn't leave you once."

Her mouth twisted with guilt.

"Apparently I am disturbed. I've been compromised. They were half right," she said quietly.

"I can free you," he said, a promise and an offer rolled into one. "I can take you with me."  
She shook her head, eyes closed.

"If I go someone will always be looking for me, even if I say it's my own choice. I got you out so you could be free. I didn't release you just to become your chain and ball."

She opened her eyes, taking note of everything about him, committing every little detail to memory, as surely as he had done when she had visited him.

_He just looks…sad_, she had told Thor, and she wondered how she looked now.

_And now we have come full circle, with Thor once again in mourning and Loki once again surviving. _

"This was a game neither of us could ever win," he said suddenly, pulling her from her ruminations.

"We haven't lost yet. This is just a stalemate. One day it will be broken," she said softly.

He leant forward, resting his forehead against her blanketed leg and reaching out for her hands, sighing when she held on just as tightly as him.

How different one touch could be. Clint's hand had almost thrown her into an abyss of rage and discomfort, yet Loki's-Loki, the deranged mass murderer with severe abandonment issues and a superiority complex-calmed her instantly, bringing her back to herself.

"I love you, Natasha Romanoff," he said quietly, his voice steady and honest.

"And I love you, Loki. More than I should."

He chuckled, raising his head slightly and brushing his lips over her knuckles.

"It would seem that we are both children."

"Then this can be our Neverland," she said in a hushed voice, knowing he wouldn't understand but wanting him to know all the same.

His mouth twisted into a poor imitation of a smile.

"Say it," she said softly, before she had fully thought it through.

But he had already said it once and the world didn't end.

"Natasha," he whispered, his voice making the name sound musical, beautiful, caressing it with love and admiration. "Natasha, I will always watch over you."

"No, you should…visit new worlds, meet new races. Just not races who give you an army."

He glanced up, meeting her gaze and the intensity was the same as always, so strong she wondered how she had ever lived without it, how she would cope when his bright, beautiful eyes were gone.

"Every flame casts a shadow," he murmured. "And I shall be yours."

She freed her hands, resting one on his hair as she leant forward, bowing her head and placing a light kiss on his forehead.

The other she placed over his lips, silencing his silver tongue.

He was a beguiler, a bewitcher of the weak-minded, adept at dealing in half-truths and manipulations.

But to her he would only ever speak the truth, and that was far more dangerous than any lie he could create.

He would look into her eyes, see her deepest desire, the darkest wish she would have to forever hide from the world, and recite it back to her, for it was his wish too.

He would speak words that would bury themselves deep within her mind and lay dormant for only moments before attacking her doubt, twisting her resolve until she knew she would run away with him and never look back.

And so she held his lips closed, her hand trembling against his skin, his breath cool and light on her fingertips as she slowly sealed away the side of her he had brought forward, locking this Natasha away deep inside her mind and reverting back to her usual self, like a woman discarding a fancy coat for a well-worn dressing gown once she returned home.

He shifted against her hand, leaning closer, their noses bumping against one another as she met him halfway, their lips meeting for the final time.

She broke away first, leaning her forehead against his, their tears intermingled on the other's cheek.

"Loki," she whispered, not wanting to say goodbye, not wanting to make it so final, savouring the scent of him, the silkiness of his hair beneath her fingertips, the cool touch of his hand in hers.

"_Do svidaniya,_ Natasha." _Till the next meeting. _

And then he was gone, but she was smiling, the tears stopping as quickly as they had started as she laughed out loud, the sound surprising her.

Of course he would say it formally, her native tongue confusing to most, even a god.

But he was right, she realised with delight; they would meet again.

And maybe then it would be better timing, maybe her guilt will have eased, though she doubted her love for Clint would ever lessen.

It hurt her to hurt him, and so she would never tell him, would allow everyone to believe she had been compromised, that she had suffered some sort of break.

She would apologise to Thor, do everything she could to try to help him, even if she knew in her heart that he would never forgive her, never trust her again, but it was the price she had paid for Loki's freedom, and she would never regret that.

Once she was deemed well enough she would force Fury to allow her to return to SHIELD, tell Clint she loved him and mean it, regain the elements of her life before Loki.

But internally she would blaze until her dying day, the flames an icy blue as she rose from them, as majestic as a Phoenix rising from the ashes, just as Loki had done.

She would always love Clint, but somewhere deep inside her, maybe somewhere she would never visit again until he returned, she would love Loki too.

"_Poka__, _Loki," she murmured, for he was her friend at least, her love at most.

He was everything she was and more, and she would never let herself forget that, would hold that knowledge in her heart until her dying day.

He was ice and she was fire, but that didn't really matter, not anymore; they were the same yet different, she knew that now.

The most important thing of all was that he was right, had been right from the very beginning:

He was hers and she was his.

Always.


End file.
